#lh:interaction

( critiqve ) Taking another bite of the japchae she made for their meal, there is no denying that it’s not as good as she had claimed it would be. Still, he could at least like it’s best thing he has ever eaten. It’s not like she didn’t tell him going out to eat would be better, after all, and for her to even offer is enough of an anomaly. With a purse of her lips, her gaze flickers up to meet his own, a quiet huff escaping her lips. She isn’t sure if it’s her ego or her feelings hurting, but she’s clearly displeased. “Then don’t eat it. I’m a food critic, not a chef. You shouldn’t have gotten your hopes up.”

His sharp gaze have acknowledged her sudden re-constructure of facial expression, noting all the curves, crinkles and frowns made. He watched how her straight brows knitted together in displeasure and her rather self-defensive response rolling out short after. Though he had found it rather appealing of courtesy; other words, cute. He maintained his baffled facial expression. 

He continued to look at her eat, wondering if it really was that delicious and suitable for her taste. If he had to be honest, he had barely tasted it yet and she was already self-conscious by his playful remarks. His brow quirked upwards in amusement as a low snicker has fled out of his pale lips.

''You, I was just joking. Have you seen me put this in my mouth yet?'' 

havntcd

Jai had always loved parties. Even before he had been granted access to Elijah’s body, the bright lights, deafening music, and sweaty bodies that pressed up against each other had always been endearing to him. The smell of alcohol and hormones was a scent that not many people found appealing; but Jai did. He strived to be a part of it; to experience the risque, reckless life.  Now, he had his chance. That was how he found himself at a club in Gangnam, two females whose names he had not bothered to learn rubbing up on either sides of him. The music and pulsing lights gave him a nice high—well, it was either that or someone had spiked his drink; a concept that was far from surprising. “Excuse me, ladies,” he laughed, squeezing out from the Elijah sandwich they had created. The two women shot him fleeting looks of regret before finding themselves another victim. He made his way to the bar, waving down a bartender and asking for another drink. Lopsided smile etched on his face, he turned to the person next to him at the bar. “This place is sick, huh?” he offered as a starting line, before extending his hand. Might as well make a couple friends, even just for the night. “Name’s Elijah.”

The local area had been restricted by the government due to abandonment and lack of hygiene management. (Un)Fortunately the shattered and broken pieces were seen as an inspired local pub in somebody's odd perspective; comprehensively reconstructing the abandoned area to an adult socializing zone, in other words a nightclub or a brothel of drunk and aroused strangers. 

The loud beats blasted through the entire place, causing both grounds and feets to bounce, bodies drenched in sweat and heat rubbing against one another within the crowded space, and minds controlled by liquor and strong scent of vodka completing the air. 

The man's sharp and observed gaze were fixated from stranger to stranger, examining each unfamiliar physiques to forget the next upcoming day. His lithe fingers were locked around the glass stem, supporting the weight of dark rouge wine, in await to be swallowed and soon re-filled. 

His alcohol tolerance were high and sudden irritation began to abruptly form around the area of his temples. The intolerable music throbbed his eardrums vigorously, hitting them his cells up to insanity. He poured the toxic liquor into his mouth, emptying the glass from a 'one-shot'

A sigh of apathy absconded out of his lips from the stranger's words, not bothering turning his gaze around to take a look at the latter. He was disinterested and bored, unaccustomed to the area, yet he overstayed his own welcome. 

Stuck in a sudden complicated emotion of frustration, his eyes widened by the stranger’s humorous comment about his public identity. He was stuck in contemplation, mentally debating on how exactly he could put his thoughts into exact words. In the end, the corner of his lips were shortly brought upwards into a sneer grin — a facial expression which indicated amusement. ”Hey, we could actually make that work.” 

The mild scent of summer breeze danced within the woods and tangled itself around his coal black locks. His eyes were fixated on the goal, his feet gathering the every remaining bit of his balance as his mind calculated the steps to take. It was another chilly afternoon at the soccer field and the sun was soon setting down, disappearing beneath the surface and welcomed the glistening moon to irradiate the night. But as he allowed the time to tick on and on. . . where exactly the arrows on his wristwatch were aiming to did no longer seem to matter to the man. 

The corners of his lips had been shortly brought up into a broad grin and the harmony of his voice began to fill the lonely soccerfield with his abrupt laughter as he had managed to surpass his opponent easily away with his old soccer tricks. He liked playing sports with the female, it was one of the things that would easily make him win no matter how much she had tried to do her best. 

Although the female was rather hot-tempered and intolerable whenever his childish mockery would reach beyond her limits, her reactions or whatsoever have never seemed to intimidate him. After successfully tricking the latter with a five year old soccer trick and accomplished to kick the ball into the goal, he raised both of his arms into the air and screamed from the bottom of his lungs in victory.

However, the satisfaction was only one-sided. He turned his gaze around, wondering why he was the only one celebrating and unfortunately he had found her laying on the field with her legs sprawled out to every direction. He could sense that there were no motivation or hope left inside of her, as if it was so hard to maintain her positive mood when she was constantly losing. Of-course he couldn't understand how she was feeling, he was the bastard who refused to take it easy on a beginner.

''Ah what's wrong?'' fake concern could be perceived in his tone, ''Giving up already? So quick?'' he hadn't yet acknowledged that they have been at the soccer field for almost four hours and perhaps, it was time for dinner. He was too absorbed into what he was doing that he had completely forgotten about a human's natural need for nutrition and rest. 

The echo of abundant rain absconded from the thick clouds, it began with dainty speck of mild water drops racing down through the glass window and awakened the nature with their fresh nutrition. His ice cold gaze observed the outside world, his mind was occupied by the blurry sketch of the misty sky from above as the arctic breeze kissed his skin, raised the horripilation and danced through the tangles of dark brown locks. 

''Let it rain, let it rain,'' the saint mother of the nature ordered her gloomy children to water the woods, she allowed them to play the weather's instruments, fill the tanks with water and tilted them over very slowly & conscientiously. They later  p o u r e d the water down onto earth's grounds, fill the lakes, kissed the human's creations & danced to the wind. The grounds were her roots, the surface were the leaves, and the universe were her plants. . .

After finally waking back into reality, his gaze shortly left the clouds and lowered his chin to examine whatever came to his sight. If his mood was to be described in Mother Nature's language, he would whisper in dainty rain drops, speak in heavy rainstorms and scream in thunders and lightnings.

Startingly, his eyes began to widen in a surprising manner as he shared a sudden eye-contact with an unfamiliar male across the building. Dressed in thick attires, coal black sweater, and their grip was tightly wrapped around their coffee mug. What caused his discomfort to rise was the unreadable look in their eyes that were aimed straight at his own.

What an unsual encounter, Han thought and shortly began to search for paper and pen. After grabbing the materials that were hidden underneath his desk, he did not hesitate into attempting to communicate with the stranger. He let his lithe fingers dance with the pen against the plain white paper, formatting words and sentences before holding it up facing the latter.